


The Stiches of Fate

by MushroomWings



Category: Haunted Mansion (Ride)
Genre: (at the very least they're mostly mentioned), Death, Gen, I guess this would be technically alternate canon???, Leota is here for a reason, POV Second Person, chapter 2 really doesn't make it too clear, content warnings for graphic deaths, content warnings for possible suicide, god my search history looks weird, i've never been to a disney park, or I guess????, this just in: author really loves the hatbox ghost, what am I doing with my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-30 02:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19033018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MushroomWings/pseuds/MushroomWings
Summary: Your name was Robert Hatter.You were born in New Orleans during the 1800s to a family of British immigrants that owned a millinery and hat shop. You felt at home in the shop, but it was where you met her, the dazzling young lady that would lead you to your fate.





	1. Chapter 1

Your name was Robert Hatter.

You were born in New Orleans during the 1800s to a family of British immigrants that owned a millinery and hat shop. Your family wasn't exactly rich, but not exactly poor. They made enough through their store to live a mostly comfortable life, and to make sure you never went without.

When you were old enough, you learned your father's trade in becoming a hatter. Combined with spending your childhood watching your father and other family members in the millinery, the craft seemed to come to you with ease. You felt at home in the shop, but it was where you met her, the dazzling young lady that would lead you to your fate.

You'd seen her around the city, heard the name of her family thrown around. She was the daughter of Arthur Brown, a plantation owner, right pretty as a flower with eyes the color of a sunset and hair dark as night.

Her name. Do you remember? It was Maria.

Fate would have it that her and her father came in one day, desiring a new hat to accompany her outfit for one of his parties. You offered a selection of already made hats you thought would suit her tastes. None she examined fit her vision, so her father commissioned one, with her special request that you specifically craft it.

It took a few days and some consultation with your seniors to make it to her specifications, but finally it was done. Mr. Brown, pleased with your hard work, congratulated on a job well done.

"My Maria will love this!" he exclaimed. "You did splendid, lad, I can't thank you enough."

"If you don't mind me asking, sir," you began, knowing it likely wasn't your place but also knowing the Browns held the most extravagant of parties, "what kind of party was this for?"

"Just a simple garden party, my boy. We host a lost of them. Speaking of which, I want you to have this."

Mr. Brown reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small envelope and handed it to you. You took and opened it, finding an invitation to the party in your hands.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, sir," you respond politely.

"Please, come to the party! I would love to have you there, and I'm sure Maria would want to show off the one who crafted her hat with such precision and delicacy."

You are humbled, but don't want to say no. Before you can respond, your father comes up from behind and slings an arm around your shoulder. He'd heard the conversation and wanted you to get a taste of a different way for once.

"My boy would love to go, sir! I'll make sure he's there, you have my word!"

Mr. Brown, pleased with your father's assurance, reaffirms and takes his leave. You turn to your father, a disgruntled look on your face.

"Don't be like that, Robert!" he chides. "You've been stuck in this millinery your whole life! Why not see a different way of living, even if only for a moment?"

"I'm quite happy with my lot, thank you," you say simply.

"Lad, if there's one thing your dear old father has learned in this life, it's that you should never shoot down an opportunity like this."

"What opportunity?" You don't intend the bitterness to seep through like it is. "You act as if he's going to offer young Miss Brown's hand in marriage to me. We're a step down, Father, and the Browns only have her."

"That's not what I meant." You finally look your father in the eye. There appears to be more worry than disappointment, at least you hope so. "Just... get out a bit. See a different environment."

"We'd still be in New Orleans."

You and your father argue off and on about this through the day.

Finally, the day of the party comes. Your older family members force you into your Sunday best, and your father personally escorts you to the mansion's gates, the invitation in his hand so you don't get rid of it for an excuse.

Your father speaks with the person at the gate, who eyeballs your outfit as the situation is explained. The gatesman excuses himself to fetch the master, and your father turns to you.

"Robert, boy, look lively! I'm sure you'll have a great time!"

You doubt it.

You have a feeling in your gut, one you can't ignore, that something isn't right. You want to run, to go back to the hats you had been working on the night before, but your father has a tight grip on your coat sleeve, preventing your escape.

Finally, the gatesman returns with Mr. Brown, and you resign yourself to whatever is about to happen.

"Ah! I'm glad you could make it!" he proclaims, taking you from your father and leading you down a winding path. You glance nervously behind you, but your father just waves farewell.

"I'm glad you could come, my boy," Mr. Brown continues as he leads you to the back of the house.

"Thank you for having me," you respond quietly.

"Of course. You crafted a fine hat to my daughter's expectation. Maria is a wee bit... extra. No other hatmaker has been able to make something to her exact specifications, so long as she's explained them on her own. Such a feat deserves recognition."

You aren't sure if you agree, but you nod politely. Soon the two of you arrive to the backyard, and she approaches you.

"You're him, correct?" she inquires with a smile. She's wearing the hat proudly. You can't help but smile back. "I'm Maria. I'm afraid I didn't catch your name the other day."

"Robert," you say, nearly choking on your words. "My name is Robert Hatter, ma'am."

"Robert..." She rolls the name in her mouth. "Well, sir, I must thank you again. It's truly a wonderful hat."

"Maria, why don't you show him around?" Mr. Brown suggested. Your expression shifts to a panicked one, knowing the societal conventions. "You'll be fine, young Robert. Just don't get too close."

You decide it's best not to argue, and accompany Maria around the garden. The two of you talk, and you later dare to believe you actually had a great time. Mr. Brown seems very pleased as well, but the feeling you had earlier in the day continues to nag at you.

At the end of the night, you thank your hosts and bid them farewell, a new skip in your step. Your father notices it as you walk into the millinery, your brother too, and both approach you.

"How did it go, Robert?" your father asks.

You realize you're smiling stupidly only when your brother starts to laugh.

"Liked it a bit too much, eh?" he says. "Or… oh, Robert, you absolute scoundrel!"

"You make it sound like I did something wrong!" you say defensively, feeling your face flush. "We didn't do anything scandalous. Mr. Brown gave us permission to talk to each other freely. We had a very nice conversation, Ezra, that's all."

"Knowing you, it was all about haberdashery."

"She… asked about it, yes, but---"

"You couldn't carry a conversation unless it had to do with the trade! You're as boring as a door nail!"

"BOYS!" your father bellows, letting Ezra get the last word. "Enough. Ezra, quit making fun of your brother's inability to make small talk. Robert, please, get some rest. You've both still work to finish tomorrow."

You proceed to your quarters without another word.

What you didn't know at the time was that this was the metaphorical yellow brick road to the Emerald City.

Periodically, other invitations would arrive for you, some by servants, post, or even a visit from the Browns themselves. It was obvious that you being able to make a customer very happy had opened some sort of door, though didn't understand why. Not only did this mean you were slowly integrated into the Browns' inner circle, but it meant Mr. Brown and Maria's raving about your work meant more business for the shop, and you had never seen your family so happy.

Of course, you never tried to turn down an invitation of theirs again.

It was a few years later, at another party, that you had the first inkling everything wasn't what you thought.

Maria hadn't seemed herself lately. Never one to let someone go without at least trying to figure out what was wrong, you approached her, asking to speak to her privately.

"Is everything all right?" you inquire once the door to the balcony was closed.

"...Father has been pressuring me to find a suitor," she replies, and you're not sure how you feel about that.

"Have you found one?"

"Not yet. None of the ones he's presented to me so far are appealing to me. They're all only interested in the inheritance."

"Oh." You aren't sure what to say. "I'm sorry, miss."

"Don't be. It's not your fault." She hums a little, suddenly taking in the warm summer breeze. "If only he could make you a suitor. I'd pick you in a heartbeat."

"...Really?"

You're not sure why, and a sudden feeling of jealousy appears in your gut. You though the both of you were content just being friends.

"Yes," she replies, turning to look into the backyard. "Look at them. Materialistic, all of them. It's tragic really."

Your heart thumps in your chest, still unsure of how you feel about this.

"I… I don't see how I could be any different," you say, and she turns to you.

"You're not like them, Robert. You're simple, a man who has spent his entire life working with hats. The ones who would seek my birthright have never lifted a finger."

From the corner of your eye, you see the balcony door click shut, and a blur stalks away.

One more year would pass before a disaster would strike the area.

The hurricane that hit New Orleans that year was devastating. Many shops and home were severely damaged or destroyed entirely, and they say the death toll was even higher. Among the confirmed were Maria's parents, which meant it was only a matter of time before the Brown line would continue or be gone for good.

Maria had quickly found a suitor of her free choice, and in fact had a number of them seemingly lined up, and the wedding happened just two weeks after the hurricane. Not even a week later, her new husband was found dead of mysterious causes. No one had any leads, and there were no clues. The police couldn't do anything.

That's where it would end, you would think. Normally, the story would either end there or end with her remarrying, and your lives would continue on as they had for the last few years.

Well, it did. Partly.

Maria would remarry, and each time you would craft a beautiful veil to her liking. In fact, you went through this song and dance five times after the hurricane, over a period of two years, but each time, the groom would be dead progressively sooner and sooner after the wedding.

It was in her six attempted happily ever after that everything became extremely off.

You arrived at the house the afternoon of the wedding as you were used to. She wanted to oversee the process this time, to see the magic as it were, so you'd brought your millinery toolkit with you. The house was eerily more quiet than you remembered, and it worried you.

"Miss Maria?" you called.

There was never an answer, so you went searching for her. And you were the one who found her, in her room, glass in one hand

That awful feeling, the one you felt the day you had attended that first party, returned with a vengeance. Something wasn't right about the situation. Maria wouldn't have done this. She was worried, sure, but even she had her doubts about it happening again.

But there was only one glass, and it was the one she held.

You left the room, knowing you needed to find someone, anyone, and warn them of the potential danger.

And that's when you saw him.

A phantasmic image, ghoulish and straight from hell. It was only a flash, but it had an awful cackle. You will yourself to follow it, afraid but knowing you had to find out what was going on.

You arrive too late. The groom is dead, an axe blow to the head. The phantom stands over him, unaware of your presence until you gasp.

"M-Mr. Gracey…?" you murmur in shock, unable to take your eyes off the fresh body in front of you.

"She had a choice, you know," a raspy, ethereal voice says.

You finally tear your eyes away from Dorian Gracey's body. You see the phantom.

The clothes, the way they're worn… It couldn't be, but there's no mistaking it...

"Mr. Brown?"

"She had a CHOICE!" he bellowed. "More of one than she ever let on to you! I gave her numerous suitors, handpicked them even, and still the second I pass she picks someone out of the lineup!"

"You didn't…!"

You begin to back away, hoping you could make it to the safety of a group, but Mr. Brown's phantom raises a hand and the door slams shut. You try in vain to open it, but it doesn't budge.

"I had to, young Robert. I was hoping she would make the right choice, find the Holy Grail in the rubbish pail, as it were. I thought you would have been perfect for her. But she didn't want to pick you."

Wait… what???

Maria's words before the hurricane came back to you in an instant. Had she been toying with you, knowing you were indeed among the available suitors but refusing to choose you? Worse yet, did that mean that could have been Mr. Brown eavesdropping on your conversation that day and what you saw was him storming off after hearing her words?

The thoughts disappeared from your mind as you were suddenly hefted into the air, an invisible force holding you by the throat. You kicked, trying in vain to get the force to let go as you heard the sound of an axe being dragged across the floor.

"A shame, really. Had she picked you from the start no one would have had to die. Had she picked you at any point this wouldn't have to happen."

"You---?" You struggle to get the words out, but the force around your throat makes it hard to talk.

"Killed Maria? I did, though it was an accident. The poisoned glass she drank was left for the groom over there. It wasn't something I predicted or aimed to happen."

You were slowly losing consciousness. Was this how you were going to die? Strangled by a ghost? Your mind raced of everything. Your family, the shop, all the guests who would have to discover such a scene or who, much worse, would probably be hurt too...

"I actually really liked you, Robert. I invited you to the parties, into our circle, over the years so you and Maria could become close. So we could teach you the things you would need in order to be part of this lifestyle. But now, if you can't be with her in life…"

He raises the axe, gaining your attention once more.

"...I pray in death, it will be."


	2. Chapter 2

The ending of your life as Robert Hatter didn't mean the end of your memory, even if your true name was lost in the urban legends.

Unfortunately, the one who managed to actually tell others of what happened within had been another of Maria's suitors selected by her father. Green with envy that he had never been chosen, he spun a drastic tale that many people take as truth today. His story was that you found Maria dead from suicide and, not wanting to believe the truth, you hunted down Dorian Gracey and accused him of killing her and killed him with an axe blow to the head.

Your death, decapitation by the ghost of Maria's father, was explained as accidental on the jealous suitor's part. He was trying to wrestle the axe away, but wound up chopping off your head.

Everyone took this version of events as fact. Everyone, that is, except for your family.

They knew you better, knew you would never hurt a soul. They knew you only wanted Maria to be happy, and they knew you would never blame anyone for what happened. As luck would have it, your brother Ezra is the one who had been sent to positively identify you, and seeing your mortal form in such a state changed him, or so they say.

At your funeral, your accuser appeared. He was being disrespectful, claiming he didn't know how anyone could mourn a lovesick murderer. Your family demanded he be removed, but no one moved a muscle to do so.

So Ezra took matters into his own hands.

He suddenly pulled out a flintlock, and a struggle ensued. The rest of your family tried to break the two apart, and succeeded. Ezra would run away shortly after, winding up in an asylum some years later and busting out soon after gaining two friends.

...Hm? This is starting to sound like something one of the hitchhiking ghosts told you? That's because the brother in your tale is the same Ezra as the one in their group. He wanted to be the one to explain it to you, but he didn't know the whole story, so I told him to bring you to me when you felt ready.

Where was I now? Ah, yes… The beginning of your afterlife is exactly as you remember. You awoke to a dark room to find three teenagers discussing the story of your and Maria's death. Suddenly enraged, you found yourself staring up and one of them from a hatbox, and thus scared them out of the attic. Your afterlife lives on in the memory of the mortals, who know you better now as the Hatbox Ghost.

...Oh? Why did you forget yourself when you died? Sometimes a person dies so traumatically that they lose their memory, but are at least arisen with the clues of something significant in their life. The significant things for you was your cause of death, which allows you to let your head disappear from your shoulders and reappear anywhere of your choosing, and the fact that you were tied to the mansion by way of the hats you would make for Maria, thus the hatboxes. The ones you awoke next to belonged to ones you made for her.

You were Robert Hatter once, a man whose memory as a caring hatmaker friend to a local socialite was tarnished by the jealousy of a rival you didn't know you had.

You can choose to go by your old name once more if you wish, or you could continue to be known among your fellow happy haunts as the Hatbox Ghost. Which do you prefer?

…You wish to remain the Hatbox Ghost? Absolutely fine. It fits you, I think.


End file.
